A: 

A; 


The  Goad 


Other  Verses. 


THEODORE 


[BRARY 


THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CAL  [FORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


i*^&t*y 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD, 

A   CHURCH    SERVICE   IN    SONG, 

AND 

OTHER  VERSES. 


BY 

THEODORE    N.    EATON, 

PASTOR  FIRST  METHODIST  EPISCOPAL  CHURCH, 

McKEESPORT,   PA. 


1899 


COPYRIGHT,     1899. 


1899: 

DAILY  NEWS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 
MCKEESPORT  PA. 


RS 

154,7 


CONTENTS. 


1.  The  Good  Shepherd,  a  Sermon  in  Song, 

2.  Finding  the  Christ-Child, 

3.  Doubt  and  Good  Cheer,        -  - 

4.  Storm  and  Sunshine,     ---- 

5.  Like  a  Vapor,        -  - 

6.  The  Old  Preacher,  .        . 

7.  The  Last  Word, 

8.  Our  Hope, 

9.  My  Heart  Crieth  Out,    • 
to.  Sabbath  Evening  Hymn, 

11.  God's  Acre,  --.. 

12.  To  an  Old  Violin, 

13.  Little  Buds,  - 

14.  Today,  Tomorrow,  Someday,        - 

15.  Day  Dreaming, 

16.  The  Witnesses, 

17.  Tot's  Prayer, 

18.  Rosebud,  - 

19.  Decoration  Day,    -        .  - 

20.  Finis, 


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THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD, 

A  CHURCH  SERVICE  IN  SONG. 


I 


©pining  Hgmu. 

NTO  thy  courts,  O  God,  we  come 

With  reverential  fear, 
That  we  may  bring  an  offering 
And  unto  thee  draw  near. 

In  vain  we  offer  prayer  and  praise 
If  thou  dost  not  inspire, 

If  on  the  altar  of  our  hearts 
Thou  dost  not  kindle  fire. 

Behold,  O  God,  the  altar  now, 
Let  fire  from  heaven  descend, 

While  in  thy  house,  as  worshipers, 
Repentant  sinners  bend. 

O  let  it  be  the  glorious  sign 

Of  thy  forgiving  love, 
That  drives  out  all  impurity 

And  lifts  the  heart  above. 


PRAYER. 


ALMIGHTY  and  everlasting  God,  who,  of  thy  tender 
love  towards  mankind,  hast  sent  thy  Son,  our  Savior 
Jesus  Christ,  to  take  upon  him  our  flesh,  and  to  suffer 
death  upon  the  cross,  that  all  mankind  should  follow  the  ex 
ample  of  his  great  humility;  mercifully  grant,  that  we  may 
both  follow  the  example  of  his  patience,  and  also  be  made 
partakers  of  his  resurrection;  through  Jesus  Christ  Our 
Lord,    Amen. 

Almighty  God,  who  hast  given  thine  only  Son  to  be 
unto  us  both  a  sacrifice  for  sin,  and  an  example  of  Godly 
life;  give  us  grace  that  we  may  always  most  thankfully 
receive  that  his  inestimable  benefit,  and  also  daily  endeavor 
to  follow  the  blessed  steps  of  his  most  holy  life;  through 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.  Amen. 

Our  Father  who  art  in  heaven,  hallowed  be  thy  name. 
Thy  kingdom  come.  Thy  will  be  done  in  earth,  as 
it  is  in  heaven.  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread;  and 
forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive  them  that  tres 
pass  against  us;  and  lead  us  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver 
us  from  evil;  for  thine  is  the  kingdom,  and  the  power,  and 
the  glory  forever.  Amen. 


PSALM. 


'HE  Lord  is  my  shepherd;  I  shall  not  want. 

He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures: 
he  leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters. 
He  restoreth  me  my  soul:  he  leadeth  me  in  the  paths  of 
righteousness  for  his  name's  sake. 

Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death,  I  will  fear  no  evil:  for  thou  art  with  me;  thy  rod 
and  thy  staff  they  comfort  me. 

Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  the  presence  of  mine 
enemies:  thou  anointest  my  head  with  oil;  my  cup  runneth 
over. 

Surely  goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the  days 
of  my  life:  and  1  will  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord 
forever. 

—PSALMS  XXIII. 


GLORIA  PATRI. 


G 


(SIrrrta 


LORY  be  to  the  Father,  and  to  the  Son,  and 
to  the  Holy  Ghost  ;  as  it  was  in  the  begin 
ning,  is  now,  and  ever  shall  be,  world  with 
out  end.  Amen. 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


VERILY,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  He  that  entereth 
not  by  the  door  into  the  sheepfold,  but  climbeth 
up  some  other  way,  the  same  is  a  thief  and 
a  robber. 

But  he  that  entereth  in  by  the  door  is  the  shepherd  of 
the  sheep. 

To  him  the  porter  openeth ;  and  the  sheep  hear  his  voice : 
and  "he  calleth  his  own  sheep  by  name,  and  leadeth  them 
out. 

And  when  he  putteth  forth  his  own  sheep,  he  goeth  be 
fore  them,  and  the  sheep  follow  him:  for  they  know  his 
voice. 

And  a  stranger  will  they  not  follow,  but  will  flee  from 
him;  for  they  know  not  the  voice  of  strangers. 

1  am  the  good  shepherd,  and  know  my  sheep,  and  am 
known  of  mine. 

As  the  Father  knoweth  me,  even  so  know  1  the  Father : 
and  I  lay  down  my  life  for  the  sheep. 

And  other  sheep  I  have,  which  are  not  of  this  fold: 
them  also  must  I  bring,  and  they  shall  hear  my  voice;  and 
there  shall  be  one  fold,  and  one  shepherd. 

—Sr.  JOHN  X:l-5, 14-16. 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


God  of  our  fathers,  thee  we  praise, 
Into  thy  gracious  presence  come; 

To  thee  great  King,  our  hearts  we  raise, 
As  low  we  bend  before  thy  throne: 
O  Lord,  our  God,  thy  Blessings  send, 
As  low  we  bend,  as  low  we  bend. 

Though  human  voices  ne'er  can  sing 
Such  strains  as  set  thy  glory  forth, 
Nor  prayers  that  men  can  ever  bring 
Declare  the  splendor  of  thy  reign, 
O  Lord,  our  God,  thy  blessings  send, 
As  low  we  bend,  as  low  we  bend. 

No  other  incense  can  we  burn, 

Nor  offering  on  thine  altars  lay, 
Than  hearts  disposed  from  sin  to  turn 
And  trust  in  our  redeeming  Lord: 
O  Lord,  our  God,  thy  blessings  send, 
As  low  we  bend,  as  low  we  be  bend. 

Thou  dost  invite;  thy  spirit  cries, 
"Let  all  the  heavy-laden  come! 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Who  on  my  word,  my  love  relies 
Shall  never  from  my  face  be  driven:" 
O  Lord,  our  God,  thy  blessings  send, 
As  low  we  bend,  as  low  we  bend. 

O  let  us  ne'er  forget  thy  love, 

Nor  yet  thy  gracious  counsel  shun; 
Send  us  thy  Spirit  from  above, 
And  fix  in  us  thine  own  abode, 
That  we  may  Abba,  Father  cry, 
And  ever  on  thy  strength  rely.     Amen. 


*Adapted  to  DeKoven's  Recessional  music. 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Ccxt 


ftis  niwn 
tlrnn,  a^rl 


.    JoHNx:4. 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Sermon. 

THE  orient  shepherds  built,  with  prudent  care, 
Their  ample  folds,  well  walled  around,  that  there, 
-Not  distant  from  abodes  of  men,  each  night, 
From  evening's  hush  till  morning's  mellow  light, 
With  doors  made  fast,  their  flocks  of  gentle  sheep 
And  tender  lambs,  secure,  in  peace  might  sleep. 

His  station  at  the  door,  or  on  the  walls, 
As  faithful  as  the  watch  in  princely  halls, 
A  porter,  who,  with  ear  attent,  would  hear 
And  bravely  guard,  if  any  foe  came  near. 

Here,  gathered  from  the  distant  plain  and  hill, 
From  pastures  green  and  from  the  waters  still, 
As  night  drew  near,  the  gentle  flocks,  well  fed, 
And  each  one  by  its  faithful  shepherd  led, 
Were  brought  within  the  fold,  that  all  might  rest 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Together  as  one  flock,  and  then  in  quest, 
Of  frugal  evening  meal,  each  watcher  sought 
His  humble  peasant  home  and,  with  no  thought 
Of  care,  hunger  appeased,  at  his  behest 
There  came  the  angel  Sleep  to  bring  him  rest. 

When  now  the  western  firmament,  that  shone 
With  gold  and  crimson  glories  all  her  own, 
Has  lost  the  splendor  of  her  evening  hues, 
And  perfumed  skies  distilled  and  dropped  their  dews 
Upon  a  slumbering  earth;  when  stars  have  kept 
Their  all-night  vigils  over  men  who  slept; 
Ere  yet  the  sun  his  fiery  form  has  pressed 
Above  earth's  far  off  eastern  edge  and  blessed 
The  world  with  fulness  of  another  day; 
Before  the  mellow  twilight  spreads  its  grey 
In  such  profusion  as  to  light  the  way; 
The  shepherd,  waking  from  his  dreamless  stay 
In  peaceful  slumber-land,  once  more  is  roused 
To  thought  of  those  which  yester'  e'en  he  housed 
Within  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  fold. 

Because  he  loves  the  sheep,  and  not  for  gold, 
His  eyes  no  more  to  slumber  bands  he  yields; 
Intent  to  lead  his  flock  to  pasture  fields, 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


From  simple  store  of  food  his  fast  he  breaks, 
And  hastens  to  the  fold  ere  day  awakes. 

To  him  the  porter  opens  wide  the  door; 
He  enters  and  with  call  oft  heard  before, 
Not  long,  nor  loud,  but  wonderfully  sweet, 
He  stirs  the  slumbering  flocks  a  friend  to  greet. 
To  some  his  voice  no  welcome  accent  brings; 
They  know  him  not,  nor  know  the  notes  he  sings; 
But  ears  there  are  which  hear  as  if  some  strain 
Of  well  known  melody  were  sung  again; 
When  called  by  name  with  eager  haste  they  run — 
For  so  the  shepherd  designates  each  one — 
And  follow  him,  whatever  way  he  wends, 
As  men  would  follow  tried  and  trusted  friends. 


He  journeys  with  them  toward  the  mountain  side, 
Where  grows  the  grass  in  meadows  green  and  wide: 
But  far  away  those  pasture  lands  are  found, 
And  many  a  rough,  steep,  pathway,  winding  round 
In  tortuous  and  uncertain  course,  they  tread: 
About  them,  dense  and  dark,  the  forests  spread : 
Because  the  mountain  is  with  rocks  begirt, 
Full  many  a  precipice  they  closely  skirt ; 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


They  clamber  over  rocks  o'ergrown  with  moss, 
And  dashing  mountain  streams  they  leap  across 
Before  they  reach  the  journey's  end,  and  stand 
In  safety  in  the  mountain  meadow  land. 


OQOOQOoQOOQO 

o  0 c oOooOooQo 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Our  Lord,  who  knew 

Of  shepherds  true, 

Who  led  their  sheep, 

By  pathways  steep, 

To  pastures  wide, 

On  mountain  side, 

Hath  said,  that,  "When  he  putteth  forth  his  own, 
The  sheep  that  hear  his  voice  and  know  his  call, 
He  sends  them  not  to  try  the  way  alone, 
But  goes  before  and  knows  and  cares  for  all." 

Thus  may  we  know, 

Who  onward  go, 

O'er  life's  rough  roads, 

With  heavy  loads; 

Whate'er  the  way 

We  walk  today, 

Our  feet  shall  not 

Press  any  spot, 

By  Him  untried; 

Unsanctified 

By  footprints  of 

Him  whom  we  love. 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


AWEARY  wanderer  through  the  fields  of  time, 
I  grope  my  way  amid  a  dark  world's  grime; 
In  dangerous  and  toilsome  paths  I  tread, 
Life  filled  with  burden,  soul  oppressed  with  dread, 
Until,  sometimes,  1  almost  ask  release, 
Release  from  burden  and  from  fear  surcease; 
Then  pause  and  try  God's  purposes  to  scan, 
And  feel,  that  once  to  understand  his  plan, 
To  know  why  in  such  ways  my  lot  should  fall, 
Twere  easier,  with  brave  heart,  to  meet  it  all; 
To  face  the  thousand  ills  which  mar  my  life, 
And  calm  and  peaceful  front  all  mundane  strife. 

Why  might  1  not  begin  my  life  to  train 
In  some  fair  world  entirely  free  from  stain? 
Why  should  I  ever  stand  with  danger  girt? 
Why  wearily  contend  with  foes  alert? 
Why  must  I,  in  a  straight  and  narrow  path, 
With  solemn  dread  of  everlasting  wrath, 
My  wayward  life,  with  constant  effort,  press — 
As  many  things  to  burden  as  to  bless — 
While,  everywhere,  broad  paths  of  danger  lie, 
With  beauty  fringed,  to  tempt  me  from  the  sky? 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Nor  am  I  first  in  undertaking  quest 
For  answer,  which  might  bring  the  troubled  rest; 
Before  the  priestly  office  and  the  church, 
As  old  as  heartache,  older  still  the  search ; 
As  old  as  sin,  distrust,  despair  and  grief, 
When  sacred  promise  brought  but  slight  relief, 
These  questions  are.     The  thoughtful  of  all  time, 
The  tempted,  troubled,  tried,  of  every  clime, 
Have  asked,  with  throbbing  heart  and  anxious  mind, 
Why  God  should  choose  for  helpless  human  kind 
A  world  with  evil  filled  as  training  place; 
Why  doom  to  pain  and  death  a  human  race. 

In  all  the  passing  years,  no  answer  came; 
Philosopher  and  sage  could  nothing  frame 
Of  helpful  words  with  power  to  bring  content 
To  struggling  ones,  however  well  was  meant 
Their  idle  work  of  spinning  theories, 
Which  make  us  see  but  men  as  walking  trees; 
And  those,  who,  in  their  agony,  have  cried 
To  heaven  as  humble  suppliants,  have  died 
Before  a  message  came  to  solve  their  doubt, 
Drive  gloom  away,  and  put  their  fear  to  rout. 

Down  deep  in  nature's  heart  the  causes  lie: 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


We  cannot  fathom  though  with  tears  we  try 

Her  depths;  but  left  to  comfort  us  is  trust 

That  God,  the  God  of  nature,  still  is  just; 

And,  when,  with  earnest  gaze,  we  search  the  sea 

Of  our  own  inner  life,  there  can  but  be 

Reflected  back  such  picture  as  will  tell 

To  all,  who  know  to  read  the  spirit  well, 

That  God,  who  sends  all  worlds  to  whirl  in  space, 

Who  fixes  fast  their  bounds,  decrees  their  pace, 

And  makes  them  sing,  in  glorious  strain,  his  praise, 

In  anthems  such  as  morning  stars  can  raise, 

And  settles  all  their  destiny  forever, 

Though  He  be  infinite  in  power,  can  never 

To  kinship  with  himself  our  spirits  bring, 

Or  make  it  possible  due  praise  to  sing, 

Until — our  moral  worth  securely  fixed 

By  choices  free,  where  strangely  mixed 

The  good  and  evil  intertwined  lie — 

Our  spirits  dare  to  claim  such  kinship  high. 

We  walk  by  faith ;  we  cannot  walk  by  sight ; 
Here  will  I  rest,  in  darkness  of  this  night, 
Though  not  a  single  star  can  send  its  ray 
Through  cloudy  skies,  which  overhang  the  way: 
The  soul  of  things  is  good,  and  God  above, 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Who  made  this  world  and  fashioned  us,  is  love. 
He  plans  no  evil  thing,  and  this  world's  strife 
Must,  somehow,  issue  in  a  better  life. 

It  shall  not  give  me  fret  that  mountain  peaks 
Show  broader,  grander,  views  to  him  who  seeks 
Their  summits,  than  the  level  plain  can  give 
To  men  content  forever  there  to  live ; 
Nor  shall  my  soul  be  vexed  that  meadows  lie, 
Sometimes,  on  mountain  slopes,  while,  parched  and  dry, 
The  plain  below,  unfruitful  fields  and  bare, 
Spreads  out,  where  none  may  feed;  nor  shall  I  dare 
Give  place  to  plaint  because  within  the  wall, 
Secure  and  strong,  there  is  not  food  for  all 
The  flocks  which,  mingling,  rest  in  safety  there, 
Protected  by  a  faithful  porter's  care. 

I  try  no  more  the  mystery  to  solve; 
Within  my  mind  no  more  dark  thoughts  revolve, 
Because  I  know  the  shepherd-spirit,  kind, 
Has  put  me  forth  in  these  rough  ways  to  find 
The  pastures  green;  and  1,  with  strength  conceived 
And  born  of  hope,  as  one  who  has  believed 
The. glad  report  that  all  is  done  in  love, 
With  eyes  forever  fixed  on  things  above, 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Will  gladly  toil;  will  every  danger  face; 
And  run  with  patient  joy  the  weary  race, 
Because  into  the  life  the  blessed  know 
No  man  without  these  things  could  ever  grow ; 
For  this  the  Shepherd  puts  me  forth  to  try 
The  dangers  and  the  toil  of  mountains  high. 

What  seems  but  ill, 

In  all  our  storm  and  stress, 
Comes  after  all  to  bless: 

My  soul  be  still. 

The  heart's  best  thrill 
Of  joy  is  felt,  at  last, 
When  pain  endured  is  past: 

Trust  and  be  still. 

It  is  God's  will 

That  stress,  and  storm,  and  pain, 
Should  never  come  in  vain : 

Trust  and  be  still. 

Trust  and  be  still ; 

And  let  pain,  stress  and  storm 
Give  thee  each  day  the  form 

That  suits  his  will. 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


AS  when  the  shepherd  putteth  forth  his  own, 
And  bids  them  walk  in  ways  before  unknown, 
He  goes  before  them,  and  they  hear  his  voice 
And  follow  him,  so,  1  in  this  rejoice; 
The  Lord,  our  Shepherd,  in  the  heavy  lore 
Of  sorrow  deeply  learned  is.    The  core 
Of  earth's  most  bitter  fruit  is  to  his  taste 
Familiar,  and  the  trials  which  lay  waste 
Our  lives  were  burdens  which  he  bravely  bore: 
In  all  these  ways,  our  shepherd  goes  before. 
We  do  not  journey  any  road  untried 
By  him.     A  foe  whom  he  has  not  defied 
We  shall  not  meet.     Whatever  ills  we  bear 
Have  darkened  old  Judea's  roadway  where 
The  Master  entered  it  and  walked  along. 
We  sing  no  minor  strain  of  saddened  song, 
We  strike  no  note  of  sorrow,  that  would  not 
Find  melancholy  chord  in  all  his  lot. 
Tis  this  of  which  the  sacred  penman  writes, 
When  he  for  us  the  sacred  words  indites: 
"For  it  became  him  for  whom  all  things  are, 
In  bringing  many  sons  from  earth  afar, 
Him  by  whom  all  things  have  their  being  here, 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


In  bringing  sons  to  glory,  who  are  dear 

To  him,  to  make  the  Captain  of  the  host, 

Him  in  whose  life  and  love  and  death  they  boast, 

A  perfect  Prophet,  Priest  and  King, 

A  perfect  Savior,  through  his  suffering." 

Cease  thy  lament,  O,  child  of  earth. 
Compare  thy  lot  with  his,  v/ho  had  his  birth 
In  Bethlehem;  who  taught  in  Gallilee, 
Jerusalem,  and  on  the  stormy  sea 
Genesaret;  and,  in  Judea,  wrought, 
In  love,  the  wondrous  cure  of  all  who  sought 
His  sovereign  power  in  healing  arts, 
And  spoke  his  word  of  peace  to  troubled  hearts. 

Dost  thou  know  what  it  is  for  bread  to  toil, 
And,  art  thou  sick  at  heart  of  this  world's  moil? 
The  Master's  hand  has  pushed  the  plane, 
And  held  the  hammer  and  the  nails,  and  stain 
Of  labor  been  upon  his  coarse,  cheap  dress, 
While  he,  with  humble,  loyal  faithfulness 
To  Joseph,  took  the  place  of  first  born  son, 
And  found  in  work  disgrace,  or  burden,  none. 

Hast  thou  for  home  a  very  humble  place? 
Has  fortune  failed  thee?     In  the  wild,  mad  race 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


For  earthly  gain  hast  fallen  far  behind? 

Thou  still  hast  riches  more,  in  every  kind 

Of  present  treasure,  than  our  Lord,  who  said: 

"The  Son  of  man  hath  not  whereon  his  head 

May  lie,  while  e'en  the  birds  have  nests, 

And  the  wild  fox  the  hole  wherein  he  rests. " 

At  Bethany  and  in  Capernaum 

Love  opened  humble  doors  that  he  might  come 

Within,  an  honored  friend,  and,  there,  find  rest 

Among  the  lowly  ones,  who  loved  him  best; 

Or,  there,  awhile,  precarious  shelter  take 

From  growing  plots,  which  envious  priests  did  make 

Against  him  and  his  messianic  throne; 

But  often  he  would  spend  the  night  alone 

Upon  some  quite  deserted  mountain  side; 

Or,  with  the  men  he  loved,  at  eventide, 

Would  wend  his  way  across  the  Kedron  vale, 

Into  the  garden,  where  was  heard  his  wail 

Of  bitter  struggle  with  the  powers  of  night, 

And,  sheltered  by  the  trees,  would  wait  the  light. 

Oh,  Garden  of  the  Olive  Press, 

Gethsemane,  on  Olivet, 
Thy  trees  still  stand  but  ne'er  confess, 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


To  waiting  souls  their  words  might  bless, 
The  things  they  know  so  well. 

There,  underneath  thy  spreading  shade, 

Sweet,  sad  Gethsemane, 
Upon  thy  sod,  my  Master  laid 
His  weary  form,  or  all  night  prayed, 

As  was  his  wont,  to  God. 

What  things  he  said,  what  joy  he  knew— 

Sweet,  glad  Gethsemane — 
What  rest  he  found,  what  comfort  true, 
Might  seem  to  us  forever  new, 

If  thou  couldst  tell  us  all. 

O  Son  of  God,  thou  Son  of  man,  who  world 
On  world,  with  God-like  skill  and  power,  hast  hurled 
Out  into  space,  in  regions  far  beyond 
The  sight  of  men,  and  fastened,  with  the  bond 
Of  thine  own  word,  the  stars  to  shine  above, 
Abjectly  poor  didst  thou  become,  in  love 
For  us,  that,  through  thy  want  and  woe,  all  we, 
Who  love  and  trust  thee  in  thy  poverty, 
Made  rich,  might  see  the  wonders  of  thy  grace 
As  manifested  to  a  ruined  race. 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Hast  thou  in  life  known  burden  hard  to  bear? 
Which  of  thy  burdens  now  shall  we  compare 
With  the  tremendous  loads  which  Jesus  bore, 
Until,  at  last,  the  heart,  which  long  was  sore, 
No  longer  able  to  endure  its  grief, 
Did  break,  and  thus  in  death  he  found  relief. 

Has  every  fiber  of  thy  soul  been  rent 
By  trials  and  temptations  Satan-sent? 
E'en  yet  thou  hast  not  suffered  more 
In  all.  thy  years  than  Jesus  did  of  yore, 
When,  in  the  forty  days  of  varied  test, 
Satan  besought  him  yield  to  his  behest; 
Or,  in  Gethsemane,  sore  pressed,  he  prayed, 
And  like  a  devastating  wave,  unstayed 
By  rugged  ocean  shores,  o'er  him  there  came 
The  agony  that  swept  and  swayed  his  frame. 

O,  Garden  of  the  Agony, 

Gethsemane,  on  Olivet, 
Such  story  thou  couldst  tell  to  me 
Of  anguish,  as  should  make  me  see 

What  things  my  Lord  endured. 

There,  underneath  thy  spreading  trees, 
Sad,  sad  Gethsemane, 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


He  drank  the  cup  down  to  the  lees, 
The  cup  of  bitterness,  beneath  thy  trees, 
And  said,  "Thy  will  be  done." 

Hast  thou  been  undervalued  and  unsought, 
Maligned,  insulted,  spit  upon,  and  brought 
Into  disgrace?     Have  brethren  foes  become, 
Friends  spoken  slightingly,  left  thee  alone? 
Hast  thou  been  buffeted  with  cruel  hand? 
As  crown  upon  thy  brow,  a  twisted  band 
Of  thorns  pressed  down,  until  great  drops  of  red 
From  currents  of  thine  own  life  stained  thy  head; 
And  on  thy  shoulder  has  the  cross  been  borne 
Till,  by  the  wayside,  fainting  and  forlorn, 
Thou  stumbledst  and  fell  down;  and,  hast  thou  known 
The  awful  hour,  when  God  left  thee  alone; 
When  from  thy  lips  was  forced  the  plaintive  cry, 
"My  God,  why  hast  thou  left  me  thus,  alone,  to  try 
My  strength  'gainst  those  whose  highest  joy  is  strife, 
Unaided  by  thy  presence,  which  is  life?" 
In  all,  thou  hast  not  suffered  more  than  he, 
Who  bore  thy  sins  upon  the  accursed  tree. 

But  we  could  better  bear  the  ills,  which  throng 
Our  way  in  life,  than  meet  the  Giant,  strong, 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Defiant,  proud,  of  fearful  mien,  whose  glance 

Hath  power  to  wither  all.     Men  name  him  Death, 

And  speak  the  name  with  awe  and  bated  breath. 

His  dwelling  place  the  grave,  dark,  loathsome,  dread; 

Its  cavern  floors  with  skeletons  are  spread. 

He  daily  sallies  forth  and  thousands  fall; 

His  presence  doth  the  stoutest  heart  appall. 

Thanks  be  to  God,  who  ne'er  deserts  his  own, 

We  need  not  meet  this  enemy  alone: 

The  Master,  to  the  tomb,  as  everywhere, 

Has  gone  before  us,  and,  in  conflict  there, 

Has  overcome:  there,  in  its  fearful  shade, 

Has  waged  a  warfare  which  has  laid 

The  Giant,  Death,  prostrate,  defeated,  low; 

At  touch  divine,  a  fully  conquered  foe. 

Look  thou,  O,  man — thou  who  dost  stand  in  dread, 
Lest  he,  who  bears  the  glass  and  scythe,  with  tread 
Relentless  come  thy  way,  and  cut  thy  stalk 
Of  unripe  life,  and  o'er  it  rudely  walk, 
And  none  be  found  to  run  to  thy  relief; 
This  man  of  sorrows  and  acquaint  with  grief 
Has  walked  the  weary  way  of  life  throughout: 
Now,  at  the  end,  in  triumph  hear  him  shout, 
"O,  Grave!  where  is  thy  victory;  and  where, 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


O,  Death,  thy  sting?"     From  open  sepulcher 
He  cries  to  us,  "Henceforth  the  tomb,  I  leave, 
Is  not  a  prison-house,  nor  shall  men  weave 
About  it  dreadful  thoughts;"  and  all  the  place 
He  fills  with  glorious  light,  while,  by  his  grace, 
We  write  above  its  door,  these  words  of  cheer, 
"Fear  not  ye  mortals  when  ye  enter  here." 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Crass. 


Thus  was  it  written, 

To  calm  the  smitten; 

Bitter  to  sweeten; 

Dark  days  to  brighten; 

Burdens  to  lighten;  — 

"The  shepherd  when  he  putteth  forth  his  own, 
The  sheep  that  hear  his  voice,  to  him  are  known, 
Goes  on  before."    He  sends  them  not  alone, 

And  thus  we  know, 

Our  feet  shall  go, 

In  no  rough  way, 

In  our  own  day, 

That  was  not  trod, 

O,  Son  of  God, 

By  thee,  alone, 

When  to  atone 

For  guilty  man, 

And  lift  the  ban, 

Thou  walked  this  way 

In  thine  own  day. 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


THE  shepherd  goes,  not  far  away,  before, 
And  lingers,  waiting  until  all  cross  o'er 
The  streams.    The  bleating  of  the  weary  lamb 
He  hears,  and  quickly  gathers  it  to  calm 
And  safe  repose  within  a  generous  fold 
Of  his  own  mantle.    Weary  ones,  and  old, 
He  makes  the  object  of  his  special  care. 
He  journeys  slowly  up  the  hills  and  where 
The  way  is  steep  or  rough;  and,  if  a  sheep, 
By  wandering  far,  be  lost,  he  will  not  sleep, 
But  leave  the  ninety  and  the  nine,  to  rest 
Within  the  fold,  and  go,  in  patient  quest, 
To  seek  the  one,  on  lonely  mountain  side, 
And  when  he  finds  the  wand'rer,  far  and  wide 
His  joyous  song  resounds,  and  friends  rejoice 
When  echoes  back  to  them  the  shepherd's  voice. 

So  may  we  feel  assured  that,  in  our  hours 
Of  greatest  need,  our  Shepherd's  care  is  ours. 
He  goes  not  far  before;  he  hears  our  cry; 
Ready  to  meet  our  want  is  ever  nigh. 

When  has  the  Master  been  so  near  to  thee, 
As  when  it  was  so  dark  thou  couldst  not  see 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD.  xxxiii 


To  find  thy  way  along  life's  path,  and,  in 
Thy  troubled  dream,  didst  cry  aloud  to  him, 
"O,  Master,  help!  or,  I,  thy  child,  am  lost." 

He  nearest  is  to  those  who,  tempest  tossed, 
Most  feel  the  need  of  help;  to  those  who  bear 
The  heavy  burden  most;  to  those  who  wear 
The  mourner's  weeds,  and  those  who  are  contrite. 
The  heart  of  man  doth  not  grow  mellow  quite 
Till  God  sends  sorrow  as  the  ripening  frost ; 
The  highest  things  are  purchased  at  such  cost. 

If  challenged  to  the  proof  that  thus  our  Lord 
Is  near  to  those  who  walk  in  sweet  accord 
With  him,  in  hours  of  peril  and  -distress, 
When  fortune  fails  and  enemies  oppress, 
The  story  of  ten  thousand  martyr  lives, 
Writ  long  ago  in  sanguinary  lines, 
Illuminated  by  divinest  light, 
Beyond  a  possible  defeasance  might 
Establish  all  our  claim.     The  prototype 
Of  all  the  holy  martyr  race,  first  ripe 
Of  all  for  Heaven,  the  victim  of  the  hate 
Of  those  who  vengeance  breathed  and  were  irate 
Against  our  Lord  and  all  who  honored  him, 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Held  him  not  nearer,  when,  in  distance  dim, 

The  parted  clouds  and  riven  vault  of  blue 

Yielded  his  steadfast  gaze  their  vision  true, 

Than  multitudes,  in  after  years,  who  thought 

Not  life  itself  so  dear  it  should  be  bought 

At  cost  of  cursing  him  who  brought  to  light 

That  life  which  ends  no  more  in  death's  dread  night. 

Could  we,  who,  spirits  willing,  yet  to  earth 
Are  fastened  by  our  bodies  from  our  birth 
Until  released  by  death — could  we,  made  light 
As  angels  are  and  giv'n  angelic  sight, 
But  soar  o'er  earth  to  scan  its  history, 
Observing  all,  as  angels  do;  then  would  we  see, 
In  every  chamber  where  the  sick  abide; 
By  every  mother  at  a  cradle  side 
When  death  comes  near;  in  every  busy  mart 
Where  noble  men  have  seen  their  wealth  depart; 
In  each  unequal  struggle  where  the  good 
Have  met  misfortune;  one  has  stood— 
Unseen  by  vulgar  eyes,  hid  from  the  gaze 
Of  careless  ones,  with  form  of  radiant  grace 
And  beauty,  crowned  and  clothed  in  light  of  heaven- 
Stood  to  fulfill  the  ancient  promise  given — 
Given  to  his  own  before  he  did  ascend 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


To  heaven,  "Lo,  I  am  with  you  to  the  end!" 

Then  should  we  know  that,  in  all  burdened  years, 

No  man,  with  honest  soul  and  bitter  tears, 

Has  tried  to  hold  the  current  of  his  life, 

With  firm  hand,  steady,  where  the  fearful  strife 

Is  made  unequal  by  the  might  of  foes; 

Nor  any  soul,  enduring  trial  throes, 

Stood  firm,  despite  his  nature's  wayward  trend, 

Against  the  wiles  of  Satan,  who  would  bend 

Our  lives,  red-heated  in  the  furnace  of 

Temptation,  to  the  ugly  form  and  love 

Of  things  which  would  destroy;  nor-  any  man 

Of  upward  look  and  high  and  holy  plan, 

Between  the  nether  millstone  of  desire 

And  upper  stone  of  what  God's  laws  require 

Been  ground;  but  that  the  eye  of  faith  could  see, 

Quite  near,  that  radiant  presence — it  was  he 

Who,  in  the  furnace  sevenfold  hot,  was  seen 

As  fourth ;  whose  presence  was  the  fireproof  screen 

Which  saved  the  holy  Hebrew  three,  when  swathed 

In  flames,  and  brought  them  off  unscathed; 

Nor  has  a  Christian  come  to  death's  dark  vale, 

But  it  was  turned  by  Him  into  a  dale, 

Cool,  shadowy  and  peaceful,  and  the  Son  of  God 

Made  the  way  easy  by  his  staff  and  rod. 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Shall  we  complain  because  we  tread  rough  ways, 
In  climbing  to  the  mountain  top  and  blaze 
Of  splendor,  which  shall  there  surround  and  light, 
With  glory  all  ineffable  and  bright, 
Our  joyous  lives,  redeemed  forever  more? 
Nay,  but  rejoice,  because  "He  goes  before." 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


W 


(ETnstng  Hgntn. 

ITH  joy  we  entered,  Lord,  thy  house, 

That  we  might  worship  there; 
In  peace,  now  bid  us  all  depart, 
Under  thy  watchful  care. 


If  thou  shalt  lead  to  pastures  green, 

Or  by  the  waters  still, 
Help  us,  with  thankful  hearts,  to  go 

Obedient  to  thy  will. 

But  if  thou  lead  by  pathways  rough, 

O,  may  we  nothing  fear, 
But  trust  the  promise  thou  hast  given, 

Forever  to  be  near. 

In  peace  now  bid  us  all  depart, 
As  here  with  joy  we  came: 

Teach  us  to  rest  in  thy  great  love, 
Forever  more  the  same. 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


Now  the  God  of  peace  that  brought 
again  from  the  dead  Our  Lord  Jesus,  that 
great  Shepherd  of  the  sheep,  through  the 
blood  of  the  everlasting  covenant,  make  you 
perfect  in  every  good  work  to  do  his  will, 
working  in  you  that  which  is  well  pleasing 
in  his  sight;  through  Jesus  Christ,  to  whom 
be  glory  for  ever  and  ever.  Amen. 


OTHER  VERSES. 


xl  FINDING  THE  CHRIST-CHILD. 


I 


Fitidtug  tfoe 


I 

heard  the  story  of  the  Christ-child's  birth, 
And  prayed,  "Kind  Shepherds,  O  show  me 
Where  babe  and  Madonna  may  be, 

For  they  say  that  the  Christ-child  came  to  earth, 

Came  to  speak  to  me." 
A  sad  voice  replied, 
"The  shepherds  have  died, 

And  do  not  hear  thee." 


II 

Much  grieved  that  shepherds  could  not  hear  my  prayer, 

I  cried,  "O  Wise  Men,  happy  band, 

Who,  coming  from  a  far-off  land, 
The  Christ-child  found,  O,  show  me  where 

Is  the  sacred  spot." 

Again  the  voice  said, 

"The  Wise  Men  are  dead, 
And  they  hear  thee  not." 


FINDING  THE  CHRIST-CHILD.  xli 

III 

Heart  sick  because  no  help  could  come  from  men; 
"Angels,  who  sang  the  Christ-child's  birth, 
Come  back  once  more,  come  back  to  earth," 

I  cried,  "Sing  me  your  song  of  peace  again, 

And  show  me  the  way." 
Once  more  the  voice  spoke, 
"Why  angels  invoke? 

They  come  not  today." 

IV 
My  heart  no  more  from  breaking  could  1  keep: 

I  sat  down  beside  another, 

One  who  sought  and  found  not,  brother 
To  him  in  his  grief,  and  turned  aside  to  weep: 

I  heard  a  low  sound; 

A  voice  sweet  and  mild, 

"I  am  the  Christ-child," 
It  said,  "thou  hast  found." 


Ill 


xlii  DOUBT  AND  GOOD  CHEER. 


and  (Snxrrl  Olter. 


T 


HE  funeral  dirge  of  faith 
Sadly  sang  a  maiden, 
Mid  the  wrack  and  wraith 
Of  her  early  Aiden, 
In  the  autumn: — 


"Away  from  their  empty,  dangling  nests, 
The  birds  are  flown  into  fathomless  air 

As  out  of  its  old  belief  and  rest 
My  soul  has  wandered — where?" 

A  song  of  abiding  cheer, 
Though  the  leaves  were  falling, 

Sang  one  who  sat  near, 
But  heard  glad  voices  calling 
From  the  springtime: — 

'Again  to  rebuild  their  dangling  nests 

Shall  the  birds  come  back  in  the  springtime  fair; 
So  the  soul,  that  once  by  faith  was  blest, 

Never,  forever,  shall  despair.' 


STORM  AND  SUNSHINE.  xliii 


A 


S  rain  and  sunshine,  wind  and  storm 

All  shape  the  growing  tree, 
And  make  its  trunk  and  spreading  form 
The  generous  thing  we  see, 


Under  whose  shade  the  weary  rest 
When  fainting  by  the  way; 

So  storm  and  sunshine  should  give  zest 
To  growing  men,  who  may, 

In  after  years,  when  stress  has  brought 
To  them  that  splendid  form, 

Which  never  can  by  ease  be  wrought, 
But  grows  alone  in  storm, 

Be  like  the  tree  which  stands  to  say, 

To  every  weary  one, 
"Beneath  my  branches  here  you  may 

Be  sheltered  from  the  sun." 


xliv  LIKE  A  VAPOR. 


* 

L 


IKE  a  morning  vapor  rising  from  the  stream, 

Misty,  vague,  uncertain; 

Fleecy,  silken  curtain, 
Hanging  for  a  moment,  fading  like  a  dream, 
Is  the  life  of  man. 


But  the  breath  of  heaven,  in  earth's  valleys  chilled, 

Winter-bound  and  lonely, 

Here  appearing  only 

Till  the  morning  warms  it,  as  our  God  hath  willed; 
Such  the  life  of  man. 

See,  the  mist  can  tarry  but  a  little  time: 

Silent,  stealthy,  certain, 

Lifts  the  fleecy  curtain ; 
In  a  moment  pass  we  to  another  clime; 

Pass  the  sons  of  men. 
Say  not  thou  tomorrow;  morrow  may  not  dawn; 

Let  today  be  brightened 

By  a  life  well  Tightened, 

For  if  comes  tomorrow,  you  may  then  be  gone — 
Gone  beyond  earth's  ken. 


THE  OLD  PREACHER.  xlv 


®U  fruatfcer. 


S  the  years  crept  on  with  a  sure,  steady  pace, 

The  preacher,  who  had  been  a  giant  in  strength, 
'Had  stooped,  become  grey,  and  grown  pallid  of  face, 
Until  he  had  fallen,  and  lay  there  at  length, 
Prone  on  his  couch,  like  some  hero  whose  power 
Had  vanished,  and  left  him  robbed  of  his  dower. 

In  time  long  gone  by,  with  his  heart  stirred  by  love, 

He  felt  himself  called,  as  a  herald  of  truth, 
To  bear  news  of  salvation  from  heaven  above; 

Had  given  unstinted  both  manhood  and  youth; 
Now  old  he  lies  dying;  soon  all  will  be  o'er, 
And  he  will  have  crossed  to  the  other  shore. 

He  lingers,  and  dreams  of  some  scene  in  the  past; 

Of  people  assembled,  and  church  lacking  light; 

Of  himself  as  reluctant,  but  compelled  at  the  last; 

And  murmurs:  *"There  will  be  no  preaching  tonight." 
Ah!  Tonight  there  will  be  no  preaching  'tis  true, 
But  heaven  will  dawn  on  the  old  preacher's  view. 


The  last  words  of  the  Rev.  Dv.  D.  L.  Dempsey. 


xlvi 


THE  OLD  PREACHER. 


The  lights  are  gone  out,  the  doors  are  shut  close, 
The  key  has  been  turned  in  the  rusty  old  lock; 
The  preacher,  gone  forth  to  the  grave,  finds  repose ; 
New  voices  must  plead,  others  point  to  the  Rock 
On  which  men  shall  stand,  to  the  One  who  gives  light; 
By  him  there  will  no  more  be  preaching  tonight. 


THE  LAST  WORD. 


xlvii 


Ttae  |L,a$t 


L 


ET  it  be  recorded,  shine  forth  as  the  light, 

Where'er  sin  has  shrouded  mortal  man  in  night, 
Jesus  is  a  refuge,  thither  men  may  flee; 
He  can  loose  their  fetters,  he  can  set  them  free. 


Let  it  be  recorded,  graven  in  the  stone, 

Where'er  hearts  are  aching,  where  is  heard  a  moan, 
Jesus  Christ  can  comfort  all  who  are  in  tears; 

He  can  bear  their  sorrows,  he  can  calm  their  fears. 

Let  it  be  recorded,  where'er  doubt  is  rife, 

Where'er  men  are  longing  for  immortal  life; 

Tell  them  Christ  has  conquered,  cast  down  death  and  hell- 
Tell  them  they  may  join  him  angel  ranks  to  swell. 

Let  it  be  recorded,  graven  well  in  stone, 

Shout  aloud  the  message,  "Jesus  died  to  atone:" 

Preach,  and  sing,  and  tell  he  triumphed  o'er  the  grave; 
Nowhere  is  a  sinner,  Jesus  cannot  save. 


*The  venerable  Dr.  Samuel  Waktield,  who  died  in  his  ninety-sixth  year, 
said,  as  his  last  coherent  utterance,  "I  want  to  put  it  on  record  that  there 
is  no  sinner  so  low  but  Jesus  can  save  him." 


xlviii  OUR  HOPE. 


W 


(Dttr  Hnjre. 


E  live  in  a  world  by  shadows  o'er  cast; 

Where  night  follows  day  with  all  too  great  haste; 
Where  winter  chills  summer  with  ruthless  blast, 

And  makes  of  all  nature  wide  spreading  waste; 


Where  childhood  vanishes  like  morning  dew; 

Where  youth  with  its  buoyancy  soon  fades  away; 
While  manhood  bears  burdens  that  ever  are  new, 

And  age  with  its  weariness  closes  life's  day; 

Where  death  follows  fast  and  in  frigid  embrace 
Each  mortal  holds  hard  to  his  chilly  breast; 

And  thus  hurries  on  each  man  of  the  race 
To  find  in  the  grave  his  earliest  rest : 

But  the  hope  of  the  Christian  mounts  up  to  the  skies, 
To  a  home  where  there  comes  neither  winter  nor  night; 

Where  no  one  grows  old,  and  no  one  e'er  dies, 
And  all  is  enduring,  immortal  and  bright. 


MY  HEART  CR1ETH  OUT.  xlix 


Heart  (Erizth: 


THE  gates  of  life  swung  open  wide, 
One  day,  upon  a  new  made  land; 
A  living  soul  came  in;  and  then,  to  hide 
From  mortal  eyes,  by  God's  command, 
The  regions  back  of  life,  the  over-world, 

The  angel  standing  there  to  guard, 
To  duty's  call  responsive,  quickly  hurled 
Them  shut  again,  and  then  stood  ward. 

The  brazen  gates  of  death  swung  open  soon 

To  let  that  soul  slip  out  again, 
When — by  divine  command,  to  keep  the  boon 

Of  knowledge  from  the  sons  of  men, 
To  hide  from  sight  the  borders  of  the  land 

Where  spirits  dwell — the  somber  guard, 
An  angel  who  stands  there  with  eager  hand, 

Quick  shut  the  gate,  and  then  stood  ward. 

And  with  a  faithfulness  divinely  true, 

Those  wards  have  stood  and  guarded  so 
The  gates  of  life  and  death,  the  ages  through, 


MY  HEART  CRIETH  OUT. 


That  when  men  come,  and  when  men  go, 
No  careless  moment  do  they  stand  ajar 

To  show  us  either  start  or  goal, 
The  mystic  regions,  shimmering  lands  afar, 

The  whence  and  whither  of  the  soul. 

But  long  ago  there  dawned  a  day  so  bright, 

That  one,  who  looked  with  eager  care 
Into  himself,  and  learned  to  read  aright, 

What  had  been  always  written  there, 
Could  see,  deep-chisled  on  the  walls 

Of  inmost  rooms,  indellibly, 
What,  whosoever  treads  these  inner  halls, 

Must  read— GOD— IMMORTALITY. 


•  • 

•       4 


SABBATH  EVENING  HYMN. 


Sabhattr  gtt^ning  Hgmn. 


MY  soul,  awake  and  sing: 
Bring  praises  to  our  King 
With  gladsome  sound: 
His  mercy  and  his  grace, 
Extended  to  our  race, 
With  rolling  years  keep  pace, 
To  us  abound. 

Another  day  of  days, 

A  Sabbath  filled  with  praise, 

E'en  now  is  past: 
In  home  and  temple  fair, 
Have  mingled  hymn  and  prayer, 
While  we,  with  joy,  our  care 

On  Him  have  cast. 

As  shadows  gather  'round, 
May  love  and  peace  abound 

In  every  heart; 
God  give  us  sleep  tonight ; 


-Hi  SABBATH  EVENING  HYMN. 


Keep  us  till  morning  light; 
And  never  from  the  right 
Let  us  depart. 

When  Sabbath  days  are  o'er, 
And  we  on  earth  no  more 

May  meet  to  pray; 
In  richer,  happier  lays, 
With  angels  may  we  raise, 
In  heaven,  our  song  of  praise, 

Through  endless  days. 

DOXOLOGY. 

We  praise  thee,  Father,  Son, 
And  Spirit,  Three  in  One, 

And  thee  alone; 
While  all  before  thee  bend, 
To  us  thy  presence  lend, 
And  let  our  song  ascend 

Up  to  thy  throne. 


GOD'S  ACRE.  liii 


s-^*  CD's  acre"  they  call  the  field 

I     1  Where  the  bodies  of  men,  asleep, 
^-^  Now  lie  waiting  till  earth  shall  yield 
Her  precious  stores,  and  even  the  Deep  — 
Old  Ocean — shall  give  up  the  dead 
Who  lie  on  hidden  sea  mosses, 
Resting  as  sleepers  in  bed 
When  night  hours  are  dreamlessly  peaceful. 

What  ground  shall  bring  forth 

Fruit  of  such  worth, 

When  trumpeter's  call 

The  harvesters  all, 

To  glean,  in  God's  fields,  for  heaven's  great  store 
Of  spirits  immortal  and  blest  evermore, 

As  "God's  acre?" 

"God's  acre"  has  grown  until, 

By  thousands,  now,  we  number 
The  broad  acres  of  valley,  hill, 

And  well  shaded  slope,  where  slumber 


liv 


GOD'S  ACRE. 


Somebody's  dear  friends  and  loved  ones, 
With  no  one  sleeping  so  soundly 

But  all  shall  hear  the  summons 
To  rise  and  meet  the  king,  in  mid-air. 

In  these  broad  acres  shall  these  reapers, 

From  seed  thus  sown, 

All  gather  God's  own, 

And  there  shall  be  garnered  a  store  of  sheaves, 
In  number  far  greater  than  rich  autumn's  leaves, 

From  God's  thousand  acres. 


TO  AN  OLD  VIOLIN.  Iv 


C 


Tir 


OME  tell  me — speak  slowly  and  lowly,  in  whispers, 

old  fiddle— 

The  secret  thou  holdest  so  long,  come  tell  me  thy 
riddle. 


Neck  slender  and  shapely,  thy  amber  shining  and  golden, 
Bouts  well  proportioned,  delicate  purfling,  workmanship 
olden, 

Thou  seemest  but  beech,  spruce,  and  eb'ny,  a  thing  of  mere 

wood 
Deftly  united,  with  gut  strung,  all  easily  understood; 

And  thou  hast  no  heart  that  can  feel  a  delicate  passion, 
Nor  canst  thou  know  suffering  after  our  weak  human 
fashion. 

Come  tell  why,  from  under  thy  quivering  belly  and  filling 
Thy  curving  /-holes,  should  come  such  melody  thrilling. 

Whence  the  song  of  the  woods;  the  music  of  water  falling; 
The  note  of  the  love-lorn  songster,  mate  to  mate  calling; 


Ivi  TO  AN  OLD  VIOLIN. 


The  laughter  of  children  at  play;  the  sigh  of  a  maiden; 
The  breathing  of  zephyrs  with  perfume  of  evening  laden; 

The  story  of  loves  that  are  human;  the  joy  of  the  angels; 
The  word  of  great  peace,  as  if  sung  by  mercy's  evangels? 

Come  tell  why,  from  under  thy  quivering  belly  and  welling 
From  curving  /-holes,  should  come  that  melody  telling 

Of  sadness,  and  gladness,  of  pain,  and  anger,  and  sorrow, 
Of  doubt  for  today,  and  darker  despair  for  tomorrow; 

The  crying  of  prisoners;  the  moan  and  the  groan  of  lost 

souls; 
And  sounds  that  might  come  from  the  banqueting  table  of 

ghouls. 

The  heart  of  a   pine,  didst  thou  grow  on  some  green 

mountain  side, 
And  didst  fix  in  thy  fiber  all  the  melodious  tide 

Of  the  anthems  of  nature  that  float  through  the  wood, 
That  magnificent  temple,  first  house  of  our  God? 

Didst  thou  hear  the  birds  sing  in  the  sunshine  fair, 
And  the  roar  of  the  lion  rushing  forth  from  his  lair? 

Did  the  thunder  roll  o'er  thee  its  note  of  deep  bass, 
And  the  storm  catch  and  sway  thee  in  rugged  embrace? 


TO  AN  OLD  VIOLIN.  Ivii 


Did  the  wild  mountain  stream,  all  limpid  and  clear, 
Go  dancing  beneath  thee,  thy  rootlets  to  cheer? 

And,  thus,  the  whole  octave  of  nature's  glad  scale, 
As  well  as  her  minor  note's  saddening  wail, 

Become  part  of  thy  being,  the  soul  of  thy  soul? 
Did  thy  fiber,  entrapping,  imprison  the  whole? 

'Neath  the  blow  of  the  axe  did  thy  trunk  sway  and  fall? 
Did  they  build  thee  in  castle,  or  low  cottage  wall, 

And,  there,  with  the  passage  of  joy  laden  years, 
And  days  that  were  burdened  with  dropping  of  tears, 

Didst  thou  hear  every  note  of  the  human  voice 
Wherewith  mortals  lament  and  mortals  rejoice? 

The  dirge  and  the  cradle  song,  the  gay  wedding  march- 
Didst  thou  listen  to  all  from  some  window  arch? 

The  song  of  the  chase;  and  the  bugle's  shrill  call, 
When  warriors  assembled — didst  thou  hear  it  all, 

And,  now,  is  thy  soul  with  such  music  replete 
That,  to  us,  thou  art  able  each  note  to  repeat? 

Or,  did  Stradivari,  when  he  marked  thee  out, 
Gave  bound  to  neck,  to /-hole,  and  to  bout; 


Iviii  LITTLE  BUDS. 


With  fingers  deft  arranged  each  part; 
Tell  thee  the  story  of  the  human  heart? 

Did  he  compel  thee,  with  some  magic  spell, 
The  story  evermore,  with  art  divine,  to  tell? 

And  needs  it  now  alone  to  touch  thy  string 
That  story  from  thy  inner  soul  to  bring? 

What?  Speakest  not?  Thou  wilt  not  tell  thy  riddle? 
I've  found  thee  out;  I'll  tell  it  all,  old  fiddle. 

Mute  thou  must  be,  thou  canst  not  speak  or  sing; 
A  single  note  of  melody  thou  canst  not  bring, 

Except  when  soulful  fingers  drip  with  pearly  notes  of  joy, 
Or,  saddened  by  our  human  woes,  thy  trembling  strings 
employ. 

<§> 


The  flowers  are  plucked  by  human  hands 

To  wither  and  decay; 

But  little  ones, 

To  whom  death  comes, 

Borne  far  —  Oh,  far  away, 
Bloom  fair,  for  aye,  in  heavenly  lands. 


TODAY,  TOMORROW,  SOMEDAY.  lix 


T 


ODAY  is  a  helper 
Who  seldom  will  fail 

Each  task  to  make  lighter; 
O'er  all  to  prevail. 


Tomorrow  is  thy  friend? 

O  then  be  thou  taught 
Not  on  him  to  depend: 

He  may,  and  may  not. 

But  Someday  's  a  truant, 
Whom  no  man  has  bound; 

In  promise,  most  fluent; 
In  practice,  not  found. 


Only  to  fill  out  a  page 

Was  I  written  and  put  in  this  place: 
Men  there  are,  in  every  age, 

Like  me  in  greatest  plenty, 
Who  serve  no  better  purpose  than  to  grace 
Some  wasted  corner,  otherwise,  in  space, 

And  keep  from  being  empty. 


Ix  DAY  DREAMING. 


Dreamer  of  dreams,  I  built  castles  in  air 
Surpassingly  wonderful,  wondrously  fair. 

I  finished  and  furnished  as  only  in  dream; 
We  garnish  our  fancies  with  beauties  that  seem. 

I  dreamed,  in  my  dreaming,  as  others  have  done, 
That  fame  was  but  waiting  for  me  to  be  won. 

I  saw  her  near  by,  a  most  beautiful  form, 
And  yielded  my  heart  as  if  taken  by  storm. 

I  felt  that  none  other  my  life  e'er  could  bless. 

And  pressed,  then,  my  suit  with  most  eager  address. 

She  seemed  a  coy  maiden,  but  only  required 
My  pictured  ideals  in  matter  attired. 

She  asked  for  the  castle  I  built  in  the  air, 

As  dower  of  her  wifehood,  to  dwell  with  me  there. 

"Thou  surely  art  mine,  Maid,"  1  eagerly  said, 
"When  wooing  's  so  easy,  we'll  certainly  wed." 

I  fell,  then,  to  work  with  might  and  with  main, 
Builded  stone  upon  stone,  wall,  turret  and  vane. 


THE  WITNESS.  Ixi 


My  castle  complete,  I  turned  'round  to  my  bride, 
Besought  her  to  come  take  her  place  by  my  side. 

She  curled  her  sweet  lip,  turned  to  leave  me  alone; 
My  castles  in  air  were  but  hovels  in  stone. 

I  'roused  from  my  day-dream,  content  with  my  lot; 
I  could  not  build  castles,  but  could  build  a  cot. 

I  built,  and  I  found  me  a  dear  little  bride; 

Then  dreamed  that  fame  saw  us  and,  envious,  sighed. 


Tit*  TOttuas. 

IX  ushers  in  full  dress,  standing  three  on  a  side, 

Two  flower-girls,  a  page,  and  a  maid, 
A  blushing  young  bridegroom  with  a  beautiful  bride, 
And  a  clergyman  sober  and  staid; 

A  best  man  to  carry  the  ring  in  his  pocket, 

With  people  and  music  and  flowers; 
We  tie  the  knot  fast  and  carefully  lock  it, 

Then  subscribe  ourselves 

Lovingly  yours. 


*Written  on  a  marriage  certificate. 


Ixii  TOT'S  PRAYER. 


M 


AMMA,  Th'ressa  's  bad — s'e  scolded"- 
Said  my  little  Tot,  who,  folded 


In  my  arms  at  evening  gloaming, 
Tired  from  romp  and  all-day  roaming, 

Nestled,  sleepy  eyes  uplifting, 
Even  then  to  Nod-land  drifting, — 

'Tots  so  s'eepy — mamma  tiss  her — 
Put  her  down' — will  mamma  miss  her, 

When  'e  'ittle  p'ayers  all  said 
Mamma's  Tot  is  put  away  in  bed?" 

Then  she  knelt  with  ringlet's  dropping 
Over  shoulders  white  and  sloping, 

Knelt,  with  little  "tootsies"  peeping 
From  the  dress  she  wore  when  sleeping, 

And,  in  accents  sweet  and  thrilling, 
All  the  room  with  incense  filling, 


TOT'S  PRAYER. 


Ixiii 


Of  a  pure  child's  fervent  praying, 
Pressed  her  dimpled  hands  while  saying 

Her,  'Now  I  'ay  me  down  to  s'eep, 
I  p'ay  'e  'ord  my  soul  to  keep; 

If  1  s'ould  die  afore  I  'ake, 

1  p'ay  'e  'ord  my  soul  to  take'— 

Then  began  as  1  had  taught  her, 
Precious,  darling  little  daughter, 

Never  any  friend  forgetting, 
Nor  a  single  name  omitting — 

"Dod  b'ess  mamma,— an'  my  papa, 
John, — an'  Mawy, — Joe, — an'  Ga'pa" — 

There  she  paused,  and  as  I  listened, 
Opened  eyes  where  mischief  glistened, 

While  she  prattled  on  in  praying, 
Strangest  things  in  child  words  saying, — 

"But  Dod  'emem'er,  if  'oo  p'ease, 
When  'oo  does  turn  to  b'ess  all  'ese, 

'Mem'er,  sure,  Tot  tells  'oo  'at  again, 
'At  Theressa  "isn't  in  it."      'Men." 


Ixiv  ROSEBUD. 


i 

kNE  day,  when  at  last 

A  winter  had  passed, 
And  the  sun,  from  the  lap  of  the  storms, 
Was  peeping  at  earth, 
And  promising  birth 
Of  the  manifold  beautiful  forms 
Of  Springtime; 

On  the  meadow  edge, 

Just  over  a  ledge 
Of  rocks,  out  of  which  gurgled  a  spring, 

There,  where  woodland  trees 

Bend  tops  to  the  breeze, 
And  the  birds  come  their  matins  to  sing, 
In  Summerland; 

Twas  there,  in  an  angle 
Of  fence-row,  and  tangle 
Of  rank  briers  and  ferns,  that  1  found 
A  wild,  little  bush, 


ROSEBUD.  Ixv 


Beginning  to  push 
Its  way,  silently,  out  of  the  ground, 
In  springtime  and  Summerland. 

II 

"Thou  art  mine  little  bush; 
I'll  help  thee  to  push 
Out  of  darkness  thy  way  into  light; 
Thy  buds  shall  be  mine, 
Ev'n  as  they  are  thine; 
Thou  shalt  never  be  out  of  my  sight, 
In  Summerland." 

Ill 

The  Rosebush — my  bride — 

I  sat  by  her  side 
On  the  edge  of  the  meadowland  green; 

We  sang  but  one  song, 

Through  all  the  day  long, 
And  none  happier  ever  were  seen 
In  Summerland; 

We  sang  this  one  strain, 
Again  and  again, 

While  the  sun  shed  upon  us  his  beams: 
"Thou'rt  mine,  Rosebud  sweet, 


Ixvi  ROSEBUD. 


Our  circle  complete, 

Let  us  spend  the  bright  day  as  in  dreams 
Of  springtime  in  Summerland. 

IV 

Into  that  bright  land 

There  came  a  strange  band, 
Stealing  silently  over  the  lea; 

Rosebud  was  taken 

By  angels  to  waken, 

From  our  day  dreams,  my  sweet  bride  and  me, 
In  Summerland: 

Now  all  the  day  long 

We  can  sing  no  song, 
And,  at  eventide,  to  us  there  floats, 

On  the  rocky  ledge, 

At  the  meadow  edge, 
But  the  sound  of  the  whip-poor-will's  notes, 

In  the  autumn  of  our  Winterland. 


DECORATION  DAY.  Ixvii 


BRING  flowers;  bring  flowers; 
Bring  flowers  that  are  red, 
And  strew  them  over  the  soldier's  grave; 
Heap  high  o'er  the  home  of  the  dead; 
Thick  cover  his  low  peaceful  bed: 
Twas  a  crimson  offering  he  gave. 

Bring  flowers;  bring  flowers; 

Bring  flowers  that  are  white, 

And  strew  them  here,  where  the  soldier  lies; 

Make  snowy,  make  snowy  and  bright; 

Deep  cover  with  flakes  pure  and  light: 

Laud  honor  unsullied  up  to  the  skies. 

Bring  flowers;  bring  flowers; 

Bring  flowers  that  are  blue, 

And  strew  them  over  the  grassy  mound ; 

Thick  bestrew  with  red,  white  and  blue; 

Fit  colors  to  cover  the  true: 

Let  praise  of  heroes  forever  resound. 


Ixviii  FINIS. 


Finis. 


THE  tale  of  life  will  soon  be  told: 
Both  he  who  tells  and  he  who  hears, 
Together,  will  lie  outstretched,  cold, 
In  death's  embrace.    O  let  not  tears 
Be  shed  because  our  life  is  bended 
So  sharply  toward  the  grave,  but  heed 
Lest  life,  when  rounded  out  and  ended, 
Too  little  incense  of  good  deed 
Can  show,  toward  heaven  ascended. 


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